An Unjust Judge Read online

  ‘It might have been something that they had done over the years from time to time. In fact, I’d say that a lot of young men had hunted over the Knockfinn territory during the last few years, and perhaps longer,’ said Mara. ‘Fergus would not have stopped them and his farm manager had been complaining to me that Fergus did not allow him to drive out any trespassers, or even to get a fair price for the produce. Fergus had turned very obstinate about things like that. The more he felt his wits and his memory slip from him, the more he stood his ground on being the one to make the decisions. And, of course, every layabout and every idle person took advantage of him, nothing too much, but something like bird hunting, well, I doubt that Fergus would claim his share or allow the farm manager to do it. I think that Fergus would only be too pleased to think that the cooking pots were filled.’

  ‘It would be a good place for hunters,’ called back Cael. ‘The grass is very good on Knockfinn; I was thinking that yesterday and of course geese love grass and they love oats.’ She rose up in her stirrups, her hand shielding her eyes from the overhead sun. ‘Look, look down there. That’s not geese. Look at all of those hawks down there, Cian, they are diving down, there must be some prey down there, perhaps some dead fish.’

  ‘Oh, my God,’ said Domhnall. ‘And that’s the place that they call Hell, down there. Do you remember Setanta telling us some stories of that place? Quick, ride as fast as you can, you two, shout and wave your arms. They might be attacking the body. If he is still alive by any miracle, they’ll kill him. That’s a golden eagle there hovering just above the cliff edge.’

  ‘And that’s a peregrine falcon. Look at his wings. He’s going in for the kill.’ Cian screamed the words as he clapped his heels and flew ahead of them. ‘Come on, Cael, ride like the wind, keep yelling. Oh, if only I had my bow and arrows!’

  And then the two of them were off, riding recklessly, shouting at the tops of their voices. First Cael and then Cian leaped the stone wall at the bottom of the hill at Knockfinn. A few seconds later, they were lost from sight.

  ‘Go after them, Domhnall,’ said Mara urgently. ‘I hope they don’t break their necks.’ She was not truly worried though. The MacMahon twins were born horse riders. They had been so neglected in their youth that they had formed the habit of doing most dangerous things and emerging unscathed. She drew nearer to Niall. The excitement about the birds of prey had brought a little colour to his cheeks and he sat far more steadily on the pony and looked alertly ahead. Mara thought that the time might have come for a few questions.

  ‘How did you come to be the pupil of Brehon O’Doran, Niall?’ she asked, making her voice sound casual. She did not look at him, but as they rode steadily up the next hill, she scanned the distant view waiting for the first sight of the Atlantic and of the Aran Islands ahead of them. She hardly listened to his long-winded explanation but strained her ears to hear the shouts from the twins or from Domhnall. They were loud and angry, but no note of alarm in them, and she relaxed. They were just frightening the birds away. Now she and Niall had surmounted the brow of the hill and the sea stretched out in front of them. The land here around Knockfinn was very green, right down to the cliff edge, but even from the distance she could see how the smooth curve of the hill was broken off at one spot and a white plume of sea rose up. Hell. It had been named, she supposed, by some fisherman whose boat had been swept in to the inlet by the rocks. Setanta had told her scholars some stories of it. The name of Bones’ Bay probably evoked several past events. Domhnall was riding back up the hill towards them, so the twins must have the bird situation in control.

  ‘That’s a buzzard rising up, now,’ said Niall looking up into the sky. ‘I used to shoot those back in Ossory. I was the best of all the marksmen there,’ he boasted. Somehow his earlier horror had gone and he looked with interest at the birds beating their wings above the foam that rose up from the cliff edge.

  Mara glanced at him with interest. ‘You’re a bowman, then, are you?’ And was not surprised when he nodded. He had broad shoulders for his age. It made it slightly surprising that he had not gone out with his master to witness the shots of the five hunters on the evening before.

  ‘Look, there’s the body down there in that big lobster pot?’ he said pointing towards the cliffs. ‘That’s what the birds were attacking all right. See them hover above it. They want to get back down and finish their meal.’ He gave a slightly hysterical laugh.

  ‘Your eyes are better than mine,’ said Mara amiably. She would not cross-question him now. First they had to see whether there really was a body there, and then wait for Nuala’s verdict before deciding whether the death was a murder or an accident. Domhnall was returning. He would bring the news.

  ‘Niall, Niall,’ called a voice from behind them, a childlike voice, high and wavering. Mara turned in her saddle just as Domhnall joined them. A young girl, her hair streaming out behind her, was running down the hill from the Brehon’s house at Knockfinn.

  ‘Christ, I forgot about her,’ said Niall.

  ‘Her?’ Queried Mara. ‘Who is she?’

  ‘She’s Ríanne, she’s the wife of the Brehon, the wife of Gaibrial O’Doran.’

  ‘What?’ The same word burst from Mara and from Domhnall. They looked at each other.

  ‘I didn’t know that he was married,’ said Domhnall.

  ‘Nor did I,’ said Mara. ‘And the king never mentioned a wife. Are you sure, Niall?’

  ‘He just got married the day before we left Ossory. She brought him a big dowry, my father told me that. He said that Brehon O’Doran would become a rich man.’ Niall gave one look towards the girl and then turned his head back towards the sea and the circling birds.

  ‘Does she know about her husband?’ Mara made no attempt to ride back up the hill towards the girl. She needed a few facts before she met this unexpected wife.

  ‘She was the one that sent me out looking for him. She woke me up. She told me that he hadn’t come home. She was pestering me. She kept on saying, Where is he? As if I should know!’ Niall’s tone was sulky but now he watched the girl avidly. ‘She’s going to get a shock,’ he added and, unbelievably, there seemed to be a note of satisfaction in his voice.

  ‘Didn’t you tell her?’ Domhnall stared at him open-mouthed and Niall flushed.

  ‘I had enough on my mind.’ The wind carried away the next few words but the boy’s expression was now more indignant than embarrassed. Mara could distinguish a few muttered words, ‘Always pestering me.’

  ‘He’s dead, all right,’ said Domhnall briefly when she looked a question at him.

  ‘I see,’ said Mara. There was no point in cross-questioning him. In another few minutes she would see for herself. The MacMahon twins were clearly visible now. Cael still sat on her pony. She had taken the belt from her léine and every few seconds she whirled it around her head to keep the birds at bay. Cian had dismounted and was searching the edge of the broken cliff, picking up large chunks of white limestone and piling them up in a heap beside him.

  But now she had to deal with this child.

  The Brehon’s wife, Ríanne, looked about the same age as Niall, or even younger. Thin and small, dressed quite simply, just a pale blue gown over her léine with her dark hair hanging loose. The wind from the sea flattened her clothes to her figure and the lacing of the gown showed small breasts, but there was something very immature and childlike about her.

  ‘Don’t say anything now, let me break it to her gently.’ Mara kept her voice low but made it authoritative.

  ‘She won’t care,’ said Niall. ‘She’s always crying and wanting to go back to Ossory. She’ll just be pleased.’

  Almost as though she heard the words, the girl slowed down and then advanced hesitantly. Domhnall jumped from his horse, tossed its reins to Niall and came forward to assist Mara to dismount. Once she was on the ground, he stood back, placing a restraining hand on Niall’s knee. Mara went swiftly uphill, her hands outstretched.

  ‘You poor
thing,’ she said. ‘You’ve had a worrying time.’

  The girl’s thin face flushed and she scrubbed at her eyes with a small piece of slightly grubby linen. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked. ‘I’ve been waiting and waiting for Niall to come back.’

  ‘We think that there’s been an accident, Ríanne,’ said Mara. She could rely on Domhnall to keep Niall silent. Despite the young scholar’s words, this must come as a great shock to a bride of one week’s standing. Barely fourteen, she thought, scanning the childlike face before her.

  ‘Is he dead? Did they kill him? Those men with the bows and arrows, did they kill him?’ Despite Niall’s words, she sounded upset and frightened. Her eyes went to the cliff and then to the circling birds. She shuddered and looked slightly sick. ‘I don’t want to see him,’ she said then.

  ‘No, no,’ said Mara soothingly. ‘But I’m afraid that I have some bad news for you. Niall thinks that your husband is dead. He came to fetch me and we’ve sent for the physician.’

  The girl’s face was very white and at these words, her teeth began to chatter. Mara took the two cold hands between hers and began to rub them.

  ‘Is there anyone in the house with you, Ríanne?’

  ‘No, Niall left me alone.’

  ‘Orlaith comes in everyday to clean the house and cook the dinner,’ said Niall, from the background.

  ‘Well, she didn’t come today,’ said the girl resentfully. ‘She knows what happened, I suppose. Everyone knows what happened except me.’

  That, indeed, was possible, thought Mara. News would have got around quickly in this small community. And if it was rumoured that five young men, related to most of them, had been responsible for the murder, then there would be an unspoken resolve to keep clear of the body and to avoid suspicion. And this, Mara reminded herself, was not her own kingdom. She was a stranger here.

  But what to do with this child while she checked on the body?

  And then an elderly figure came walking slowly and hesitantly, up from the cliff edge. Fergus MacClancy, one-time Brehon, had been drawn to the scene by instinct. He came towards them and Mara grimaced. Now she had two problems on her hands. Turlough had reported how tearful Fergus was about the unjust verdicts at what had been his court for over forty years, and now the sight of a dead man in his territory was bound to upset him far more.

  But Fergus did not look upset. In fact, he appeared more like the Fergus that she had known from the time that she was a child, better than she had seen him for many years. He nodded gravely to her, gave a puzzled glance at Domhnall and Niall as though he wondered who they were, and then went straight across to Ríanne. ‘You poor child,’ he said in his quavering old-man voice, ‘your husband is dead, but never mind. He was not a good husband to you. We’ll send you back to your family and they will find a better one for you. Now, you come back to my new house and you’ll sit by the fire and we’ll look after you.’

  ‘Go with them, Domhnall,’ whispered Mara. ‘Just make sure that all is well and then you can come back.’ Turlough had reported how the couple that he paid to look after Fergus were kind and reliable. Once little Ríanne was in their care, then she could get on with the business of the morning. Aloud she said, ‘Go with them, my dear. I’ll come and see you afterwards and we will discuss what should be done. It will be your decision. My grandson, Domhnall, will walk back with you, Fergus.’ She waited until they disappeared before turning to Niall.

  ‘We’ll walk the horses from here,’ she said. He was not, she thought, a particularly good rider, and Domhnall’s horse might resent another hand on his bridle. ‘You go ahead,’ she added. ‘I’ll follow.’

  He was a puzzle, this boy, she thought, eyeing him as he walked ahead of her. She had thought to like him better than she was doing. He had shown himself hysterical and immature and his attitude to the bereaved child-wife had been that of a selfish young boy. How could he have forgotten to go back to the empty house and to tell her the truth about her husband, and to find somewhere to shelter her while he rode the ten miles into the neighbouring kingdom to report the death to the Brehon of the Burren? And, her thoughts continued, was it not odd behaviour of a boy of fifteen not to go to one of the nearby houses to look for help. After all, the man may have looked dead, but he might just have been stunned and lain insensible. At the very least, a guard should have been set up to make sure that the body was safe from the birds of prey who might peck out the eyes of an unconscious man.

  No, she decided. The king would have to detail a guard of men to bring Ríanne back to the kingdom of Ossory and it would be the sensible thing to send Niall MacEgan back with her. The MacEgans were the foremost legal family in Gaelic Ireland and they had Brehons who worked for the majority of kings towards the north-east of Ireland, as well as working for some of the great and powerful families near Dublin such as the Kennedys and the Butlers. A place would be found for young Niall in one of the many law schools in these areas. Unless, of course, he needed to be detained to face a court here in the kingdom where his master had died.

  Murder or an accident, this matter would have to be sorted out before young Niall left for his journey back east.

  ‘Look out, Brehon,’ shouted Cian. A stone curved through the air, falling not too far from the feet of Mara’s horse. Overhead a white-tailed eagle banked and then flew back towards the sea, squawking angrily. The birds were avoiding the MacMahon twins and were turning their attack on the newcomers. Mara felt that it was rather beneath her dignity to shout and wave her arms and Niall had bridles in both hands, so they would have to rely on Cian and Cael. A surprisingly huge bird, she thought, trying to repress a feeling of nervousness. Perhaps they made their home in the tall cliffs that fringed this kingdom of north-west Corcomroe. Thankfully, she saw that there was a small lane, edged with the spiky-branched blackthorn, just ahead of her and leading towards the cliff. The horses would be safer there. Wild birds were frightened of anything that appeared to be a trap and the bushes would shield them. She steered her horse into that refuge and heard Niall follow behind. She heard him stop once. The bushes were studded with blue-black sloes, a good year for them, there were more of them lying on the laneway, as though the thrushes and hawfinches were sated with the fruits. Niall was not a country boy, she thought, as she saw him eagerly bite into one and then spit it out vigorously. He was, she guessed, apprehensive about seeing the body again and trying to delay the moment, as he lingered to survey the bushes and then followed her reluctantly.

  After a bare two minutes, they were out on the cliff side again, out in the sunlight. It was a beautiful day. The sea shone a bright turquoise, bluer than the sky. Crab Island, just below the cliff, was covered with seabirds and in the distance, the Aran Islands floated in the mist, as insubstantial as the islands of legends. As they emerged, a foaming jet of seawater shot up through the blowhole and sent billowing jets of spray all around the cliff. Cael and Cian ran back towards them. The birds soared higher in the sky, and hovered there, baulked once more of their prey. And then a few seconds later, as the waves retreated, the pillar of spume subsided.

  And then they could see what was drawing the birds to the spot. A large wicker pot seemed to be stuffed with wet black cloth, but as the mist cleared Mara could see that something glistened pink under the sunlight. The birds squawked noisily and dropped down. One managed to land despite the shrieks from Cael and Cian, but then the waves rolled back in again to the shore, the jet of water spurted up through the blowhole and once again the basket was shrouded with water. Nevertheless, Mara had seen enough. That was a human face, a human head on top of the shapeless heap stuffed into the basket.

  ‘We’ll have to drag it out,’ shouted Cian in her ear. ‘We were waiting for you to come, Brehon, but we’ll have to get it out of there. Nuala will need it away from the spray so that she can examine it.’

  He was right, of course. Mara knew that. Although Nuala had always impressed on her and on her scholars that a body should not be moved un
til she had a chance to view it, it was impossible to view anything in the couple of seconds when it was uncovered. The waves were crashing against the cliff face of the inlet at their side but this remaining section of the cliff was far out and got the full force of the sea. They might have to wait for hours for the arrival of dead tide and even then that hole might still be spurting out its water.

  ‘We’re wet already,’ screamed Cael. ‘We’ll do it, Brehon. We’ll take it back as far as possible. Niall, you get those stones. Give us cover from the birds, keep firing.’

  Mara assessed the situation. The basket was near enough to the blowhole to get soaked every time that the seawater shot up it, but it wasn’t so near that there would be any danger to the twins. She was tempted to wait until Nuala arrived with her apprentice, but the body might have been battered all night by the tide, and if there was the slightest chance that the man were still alive, then no moment should be lost.

  ‘Take care!’ That was all that she could say and she thought that there was no more that she could add. The twins would have summed up the situation and they were a competent pair, so she helped herself to a couple of stones from the pile and stood beside Niall. Cael was yelling something into Cian’s ear and he nodded. Both were alert, ignoring the birds now and waiting as near as they dared to the lobster pot.

  ‘Now!’ screamed Cael. The spurt of foam had just wavered when the twins plunged into it. For a moment Mara could not see them and for a moment her heart skipped a beat for fear that they might go too near the edge of the blowhole – about five or six feet across, she reckoned. But then the water slipped back down, the noise of the waves grew less; its place taken by the raucous cries of the hovering birds.

  ‘Quick, Niall,’ said Mara, resolutely turning her gaze from the twins. She hurled one stone and then another and another at the white and black shapes that jetted through the air down towards them. There was a shout from Cian but still she fired the stones one after the other, hoping that Niall was doing the same thing, but not daring to pause in the rhythm of stoop, pick and fire; stoop, pick and fire.